


The gift

by Maritrar



Series: Your own path [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Mild non-con, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 15:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11511840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maritrar/pseuds/Maritrar
Summary: It's your birthday, and when Shay has to go out for the evening, you demand he make it up to you. Shay complies. Thoroughly.





	The gift

**Author's Note:**

> Reposting this as part one of a series. Part two to be posted shortly.

It is just before noon when you spot the red sails of the Morrigan returning and your heart soars. He has been gone for three weeks, three weeks of torment and worry, but now he is back. You search for him, but the vessel is still too far out and you are running late. It’s hard to tear your gaze away, and go on with your chores, to pass the docks without even a glimpse of him, but you force yourself to move.

Throughout the rest of your day, you fulfil your duty but your mind wanders constantly, drawn to Shay with every heartbeat. You struggle to focus, for once unable to put your sharp mind to use for the good of New York.

When you finally find your way to him, it’s a joy cut short.  

“But it’s my Birthday!” you pout. “And you _just_ got back. Do you really have to go?” It just isn’t fair.

Shay smiles back at you, the gift in his hand forgotten the moment he told you he had to go out this evening.

“Don’t fret,” he says. “Yer’ coming with me.”

You frown, confused.

“But I am not invited, Shay.”

“I don’t care. Ye’ll be my plus one.”

You continue pouting; you wanted to spend time with him alone, but you know it will do no difference. Unlike you, he is high up in the order; he has obligations he cannot shirk away from and tonight is no different, even if it is a social function.

“Dress code uniform?” you ask. “There is no one there I know; they will all think I’m with the staff.” You don’t mind your uniform on a normal day, but a Templar gathering where everyone outrank you and mistake you for a servant is not your idea of a fun evening. Especially on your birthday.

“Who says ye av’ to wear yer uniform? As my partner; ye wear whatever you want.”

That brightens your mood. Minutely.

You could be a lady again, do your hair up like your maid once used to, wear your one nice dress; the dark teal one hanging in the closet unused since you joined the order. There will probably be wine served as well. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea.

Suddenly the prospect of the party looks a little brighter.

Shay is watching you with a smirk. He knows you’ll give in, the smug bastard, and you can’t give him the satisfaction of having won you over.

“All right,” you say while fixing him in your gaze. “I will go on one condition.” His eyes spark at the defiant tone in your voice. After a few months of dating, he’s still reacts when you challenge him. He is your superior in the order. In his private quarters, however, his rank holds little weight over you, and you make your unhappiness known. You smirk at his reaction when you state your term. “You will make it up to me when we get back tonight.”

The spark lingers as his mouth stretches in that feral grin you know so well.

“Careful what ye’ ask for, Pet,” he says. “Now open yer’ gift.”

You grin salaciously, upholding your challenge and willing him to make good of the threat. You know you will pay for it eventually, later tonight, but after weeks without him, you are looking forward to the prospect. The smile still lingers on your face as you turn your attention to your gift, unravelling it from the linen cloth enveloping it.

It’s a small wooden box with an ornate pattern on the lid. You skim your fingers over the surface marveling at the intricate design. It’s beautiful, the inlayed woods depicting an arrangement of minute flowers. You never thought you’d own anything quite like it ever again. You gaze shifts to his, but just as you are about to thank him, he chuckles.

“Open it,” he says.

It seems the box is merely a container for the real gift inside. The mischievous gleam in his eye have you hesitate a moment, staring at him before flicking the laches and flipping the lid up.

Inside the box are three oblong shapes, each a different size, the ebony shining black and highly polished.

You furrow your brow and look to him for an explanation. He picks one up, the smallest one, and the shape of it in his hand and the way he smiles at you jolts you into realization. Your cheeks are dusted red as he chuckles lowly.

“Ye’ve never seen anythin’ like this before, ‘ave you?” he is practically purring, voice low and suggestive and you numbly shake your head. Although you have never encountered anything like it, the phallic shape could not be intended for anything but indecent activities. Why there are three sizes, though you can’t figure out.

Shay is grinning at you lecherously, waiting for your racing mind to halt, and when it does, he continues.

“With these,” he says, “we’ll find the pleasure points ye’ have yet to discover.”

_Oh._

His smile have you intrigued, but it makes no sense to you. The grin on his face is widening. You are not really sure what he means and the unknown territory he points out makes your heart flutter. It sets you on edge, but you have learned by now how experiencing something for the first time sharpens your senses and what it does in terms of the … result. He smiles knowingly, russet eyes glinting as the corners of his mouth barely lifted to reveal his canine teeth.

His voice lowers into something dark and slightly menacing. “By the end of t’night, yer demand ‘ill be fulfilled, My Lady. _Thoroughly_ so.”

You swallow. Hard.

Your eyes are torn between his face and his fingers playing with the toy. You really don’t want to leave now. You want to stay and explore, but when you reach for the toy, he puts it back in the box and snaps the lid shut.

“Ah-a,” he says and gives you a kiss. “T’night. Now go and get yerself ready, we ‘av ter leave in less than half an hour.”

 

The party is loud and the air is stuffy. You are standing alone in the middle of a room, half-empty glass of vine in your hand and left to your own devises. Shay has disappeared deeper into the grand house, whisked away to discuss important matters; Order matters, above your level of clearance, and you are left behind.

The house is magnificent, you reluctantly must admit. The Grand Master had it all redone when he returned from London a few years ago and the man has immaculate taste. Chestnut paneling polished to a dark, warm color covers the lover half of every wall. Above, the walls are drawn in silks of lavish wine red, dark greens and gold. On top of that are crown moldings, carved in the new Pompeiian-inspired style and decorated in gold leaf. Every floor is covered in thick, Persian carpets and chandeliers gleams in the lights of hundreds of candles. Everywhere your eye lands are more details, tassels and fringes and fine textiles. The Grand Master knows how to make a statement you muse as you silently take a sip of wine. You were never one to appreciate interiors that practically shouts power and capital, but this stays firmly in the sophisticated and out of the garish range.

Another glance about the room confirms Shay’s continued absence as you impatiently await his return. There is no one here you know; none to whom you are formally introduced. Everyone here is your superior and even if you recognize a scant few of the men and women, they are still above you. Decorum prohibits you approaching anyone.

They could of course engage you since you are lower rank, but no one seems to recognize you out of your uniform. Mistaking you for a Lady, a position you held until you chose to leave that life behind. Thinking your status high above their own, they leave you be. However, their eyes trail you wherever you go.

It figures, you are the only one _not_ wearing a uniform. Shay forgot to mention that you would be the only ‘civilian’, and despite your effort to blend in, you stick out like a sore thumb.

Well. At least you are a very beautiful, sore thumb; you know the figure you make in the dark dress, the prominent arch of your back and your bosom peeking over the low-cut neckline. The flow of curls dancing just above your shoulders enhancing the line of your neck. The fleeting looks running you over hold a mix of emotions; curiosity, envy, appraise; even heat. It’s a little unsettling when no one is talking to you.

After a while, you chose to ignore it. There is little you can do, but wait for Shay’s return.

Your thoughts fleet back to him and to the gift waiting for you back home. Out of boredom, you indulge yourself to fantasize of the night to come, and your heart quickens under all the tight layers of clothes. After your challenge, you know Shay will indulge in slow torture until you writhe and beg for him, and the toys make for a variety of tantalizing possibilities.

You amble the edge of the room while sipping your vine, taking pleasure in the moisture on your lips, the rich taste in your mouth and the gentle heat it spreads in your body. The slow build of weight between your legs does nothing to lessen your anticipation. Frustration with Shay seeps into your bones as time ticks by. Your temper slowly rises with every glance about the room in fruitless search for him.

You do not want to spend your evening this way! Under the thin layer of powder, your cheeks are turning agitated and hot.

You really want to leave, both the gift waiting and the tediousness of solitude pulling you home, but you can’t go alone. It isn’t safe. You are unarmed, in the most impractical of attires and there are dangers lurking, even in this city. You can feel the ire radiating off your cheeks as you exchange your empty glass for a full one and you consider walking home regardless. It would suit him well for leaving you alone; the fright he’d have to find you gone.

However, you might be angry, but you are not stupid, so you stay.

 _At least I was not made to serve the drinks_ , you cynically muse and hide the harsh smile that follows, behind your glass.

“Miss. Excuse me, but I do not believe we have met.”

The firm address draws you promptly from your grim thoughts. The words spoken are formal, but the voice behind holds the unwavering determination of rank and command. It’s not a social address, but a request to identify yourself. Trepidation creeps up your spine. The heated anger towards Shay cools as if plunged into a bucket of icy water. Turning, you find a set of grey eyes resting on your form, regarding you intently and sizing you up.

He might not know you, but you know very well who _he_ is; Haytham Kenway, Grand Master and leader of the colonial rite.

Surprised and flustered, you almost snap to attention, arms along your side and chin up facing him straight, but stop yourself before you do. It ends as an involuntary twitch of your arms and a curious stiffening of your body.

He reads your reaction anyway, recognizes what it implicates, and his eyes darkens. Your mouth is parched and your voice nowhere to be found. Heart aflutter, you wonder how to explain yourself. Only the lowest ranks are expected to salute. You are not supposed to be here, and he knows.

_‘Where are you, Shay?’_

Just as you are sure the guards will be called to throw you out, you hear it; Shay’s humored chuckle behind your back.

“Gran’ Master. I see ye’v met my… betrothed.”

It’s not strictly true, Shay has not proposed, nor have you any intention of marriage, but to the outside world that is your cover, the alibi enabling your relationship.

The Grand Master’s eyes, drawn away by the same laughter snaps back to you, racing over your form and recognition flashes there. He does know who you are, it seems.

 _‘How is that even possible?’_ you briefly wonder.

The Grand Master relaxes and makes a joke with Shay, chiding him for leaving you alone and ordering him to announce _trespassers_ from now on.

He puts weight on the word with a curious glitter in his eye as they catch your own. It pikes something in you and your gaze falters from his. You have the distinct feeing he is monitoring your reaction, that you are under scrutiny and you very carefully try to act casual as your mind race.

_‘Could he… Did he see me, back then?’_

Searching memory for proof of evidence, your mind flitters to a candle lit room in the dead of night, little over a year past.

You weren’t supposed to be there, trainees weren’t allowed outside their chambers at night but your gun lay forgotten outside the training hall. There would be consequences if you were found wandering, but worse if anyone discovered you left your arms discarded. You just needed to get it and run straight back to your room. There and back again. No deviations.

The sounds of a bout inside the training hall, though, changed your plans. And, like so often before, curiosity got the better of you.

You should have left immediately, the chance of detection even greater with someone there. Instead, you found yourself sneaking forth on soft feet, closing in on the slither of light where the door stood ajar.

What you saw through the slit in the door riveted you to the spot, eyes wide and breath caught in your throat. Your supervisor and the Grand Master, engaged in sword practice, had shed their usual attire, retaining only breaches and footwear. What clothes in the daytime left for your idle imagination to fill out, was bare for scrutiny; muscle shifting under skin shining with sweat in a display of sheer power and deadly precision. The fight weaved back and forth between the equally matched opponents. The speed and force behind the blows made a chill run down your spine. You watched, enthralled, realization settling like a stone in your gut. You would never stand a chance facing anything like that; never gain the strength to counter such blows and such speed.

The idea of having these assets on your side, though, was comforting in a strange and unfamiliar way.

Suddenly the stony dread had shifted, coiling warm and heavy in your center and flushing your cheeks.

Heated embarrassment had broken your rapture as you hastily retreated into the shadows and snuck down the halls to your room without being detected.

For days, you struggled to explain your reaction to yourself; it was just hot in there; you were tired, you probably had too much ale after dinner.

You were definitely not aroused; and it had nothing to do with the show of strength and dominance.

Shay’s fingers curling against your spine draws your attention back to present day. He leans close as the Grand Master steps away to find himself a drink.

“Yer’ all flushed, my dear,” he murmurs in your ear. “Did yer dream almost come true?”

You slap his arm. Hard. And draw the eyes of everyone around you, but Shay just laughs and tucks your hand back into the crook of his elbow.

God! The nerve he has! Your cheeks are burning fiercely and you wish you’d never told him about the dream that is just too similar to the memory of that night. Like then, you are perched in shadow, illicitly watching two men bout, only this time it is Shay, dueling the Grand Master. This time you are caught and dragged into the light. In your dream, they read your predicament, the flush spread on your skin, the racing pulse on your neck. The grin they share is leisurely and crooked. The ‘punishment’ for watching is lewd… and pleasurable.

Involuntarily, a shudder runs up your spine at the thought and your cheeks flush again at your own reaction.  

The Grand Master returns and you take a sip of vine in an attempt to settle your nerves. It doesn’t work as the dream flashes through your mind; Shay’s lips against your neck and the Grand master’s on a steady course south. The red heated pleasure coursing through your body as his mouth settles against your most intimate parts…

You bite your tongue and curse Shay mentally… Damn him for that suggestion, sewing the seed of that dream and damn him for reminding you now! You chide yourself for succumbing … And notice the Grand Master looking at you, expectantly. Mentally kicking yourself for not paying attention, you let out a soft, apologetic laughter.

“Sorry, I did not catch that,” you say and fight the urge to slap Shay once more at the wry grin crossing his face, as if he knows where your mind has been. The Grand Master regards you with a curious twinkle in his eye, but repeats his question with no further comment.

“I hear only praise of your work, Miss,” he says. “Would you care to recount how you managed to solve the problems we had with the black markets?”

You manage a smile, pushing every last remnant of lewd thoughts back where they belong and delve into the area of your work, a job you are passionate about and do very well. He listens intently, regarding you with sharp interest, asking questions when there are details you leave out, and praise you for your ingenuity. You flush at his words and Shay smiles at you; warm and affirming. The Order has further use for you it seems; the Grand Master wants to employ your way of approach to other cities. You discuss enhancements and changes to your ideas. Shay stays at your side, a hand always at the small of your back. He answers the Grand Master’s occasional inquiry, but otherwise, he stays silent; content to let the two of you discuss to your hearts content, it seems. His eyes are never dull with boredom, but alight with a smile whenever you check and you relax. It makes for a marvelous time and as always when you are enjoying yourself, time passes quickly.

Before you know it, the soirée is over and you are driving through the streets back to Shay’s lodgings at Fort Arsenal.

“Did ye’ av’ a good evenin’?” Shay asks and you hum happily.

“How did ye’ find meetin’ the Gran’ Master?” The carriage is dimly lit, but you have no trouble distinguishing the twinkle in his eyes.

You know he holds the man in high regard; that he is expecting nothing but your approval and you cannot resist teasing him just a little.

“He is an excellent man… I think he might have won my heart,” you smile at him from under your lashes.

“Is tha’ so?” Shay answers, his brow raises in mock surprise, but the grin stretches as he goes on. “I happen to know he likes ye to.”

The unexpected acknowledgement spreads a warm, flustered smile on your face. His approval means more to you than you expected, unaccustomed as you still are to praise. Shay watches you out of the corner of his eye. He gives you a minute to savor your happiness, before he speaks again.

“And he said yes,” he says, casting you a sidelong glance. You return your puzzled gaze to him.

“To what?”

“Ter join us.”

“What…” You don’t understand, but a second of processing and Shay’s crocked smile snaps the meaning into clarity.

“You-?!?” You feel as if you can’t breathe. “Shay!”

It is a few weeks since he brought it up, asking how you felt about bringing in a third party to an evening of pleasure. You were brash and playful, a little enticed at the thought and unwilling to concede that you were less experienced; less daring than Shay. When he suggested the Grand master, you were sure he was pulling your leg. However, the memory of him in the training hall lingered at the back of your mind when you accepted; telling him if he could pull it off, you would not back down.

Shay laughs and tucks you into his side. He will never force you to do anything you don’t want to, but he likes to throw you out of your comfortzone.

“It’s nothin’ to be afraid of, Lass. We’ll take good care of ye.” His russet eyes rest steadily on you now, mischievous, yet reassuring and warm. It’s soothing and nerve-racking and strangely arousing.

“Don’t pretend yer not a little intrigued. Where did tha’ mind of yer’s go, I wonder, when ye were lost in the middle of the conversation?” he grins down at you as the carriage comes to a halt.

You huff in flustered indignation. Of course he has to bring that up; you’ve been half expecting him to all evening and there’s no point denying.

“You know very well where. You pushed them there on purpose, just like you put the idea in my head in the first place.”

The carriage door is opened and you pause the exchange as Shay exits, then turns to lend you a hand. Only when the carriage is rattling on down the street does he continue, grin smug and wide as he opens the door to his home.

“As much as I’d like to,” he says, “I do not control yer urges. That dream was entir’ly _yer’s_. I merely suggested to have Haytham join us.”

You wait as he shuts the door and when he turns, you see his demeanor shift; eyes turning dark and fixing you in his gaze as he stalks toward you. Feeling every bit his prey, you step back inadvertently until you are backed up against the wall. Breathing becomes an issue as he crowds your space with an arm braced against the wall beside your head. Heart racing, you tip your chin up in anticipation. His breath ghosts your face, the warm smell of leather enveloping you as you wait for the kiss, acutely aware of your tingling lips and that you can’t breathe. Your eyes are glued to his lips, enthralled, but then his mouth quirk. He is holding the door beside you open, knowing glint in his eye as he watches you intently.

“I took the liberty to av’ yer bath drawn,” he says. He knows exactly what he has done to you as you reluctantly follow his gentle nudge to enter. The room is nice and warm, steam rising off the water in the large copper tub, scented oils lined nearby. A silk frock is lying draped over a chair; what he wants you to wear afterwards you figure.

His hands rest on your shoulders, the warmth of him pressed against your back as his voice ghosts your ear. “Come find me in my room when yer done,” he says. Then his warmth disappears and he closes the door behind him.

Sheading the layers of clothing takes some time, undoing lacings and ties before wriggling out of the suffocating tightness. You sink into the warm water and find the scented oils. Picking out a couple; you settle for your favorite rose and then lemon for edge and freshness and drip some in the water. As the scented water soaks your body, the gentle fatigue of a long day slowly fades from your bones. You wash, running a sponge along your arms, over your chest and down your legs, indulging in the feather light touch it’s able to produce on your skin and wondering what he has planned. Knowing him, it’s something special. Your thighs clench together in anticipation. Suddenly impatient, you finish washing, dry yourself off and brush through your hair. You line your eyes with coal once more; you want to look your best for him, and then you put on the silk frock and tie it loosely around your waist.

The silk garment is a marvelous, dark crimson red and billows about your legs like sails rippling in the wind as you walk into the bedroom. It’s another gift from Shay, and wearing it you feel beautiful, sensual, strong. You know the power you hold over him as his eyes rake over your form where he’s standing by the fire in his room. Again, it’s nice and warm and Shay has dressed down, coat and cravat tossed haphazardly aside over a chair. His vest is undone and his dark shirt hangs open. There is heat and hunger in his gaze and you feel the weight of it as you walk to him, your toes sinking into the soft furs covering the floors. He leaves the glass he is nursing on the mantle and grasps your waist when you come over, drawing you close against his chest and kissing you deeply. His hands are warm through the silk and he tastes of the drink, potent and sweet. ‘R _um’_ , you muse as he breaks the kiss and you run your tongue over your lips savoring the flavor. You don’t drink spirits yourself, the strong stuff is not for women, but you’ve always enjoyed how it tastes on him.

He holds you in his gaze, dark russet eyes drinking you in.

“I ‘av another gift for ye.” His voice is low and suggestive. “On the bed. Open it.”

By the look in his eyes you know he’s up to mischief and suspect the theme of this gift is somewhere along the lines of the first one. Anticipation quickens your step as you dance across the floor and bounce on the bed. He chuckles and follows you there as you tear open the wrapping.

Leather and buckles unfurl in your hands. The contraption, a long tough strap reminds you of a driving rein, but it’s most definitely not. On one end there is a buckle a few feet up and holes toward the end of the strap, but on the other, it’s split in two and continues into a couple of wider pieces, both lined with soft velvet and with buckles and straps across the outside.

Again, you frown and look to him for an explanation. Without a word, he picks up one of the velvet-lined pieces and motions for your hand. You give it to him and he wraps it around your wrist and fastens it tightly.

“Oh!” you breathe. You are not unfamiliar with ties and bonds, but wonder why these are made so sturdy. A bit out of scale to your assessment, the scarves or fine rope you have used so far has been more than enough to keep you tethered.

The first brace is securely fastened and Shay takes hold of your arm and the leather strap running down beside your palm and pulls. It stays firmly in place.

“Feels all right?” He asks, and with your silent nod of confirmation, he continues with the second. You study the brace and his hands, fastening the straps with practiced ease, before noting his eyes following your reaction rather than what he’s doing. It prickles your skin in the most enticing way. Your heart speeds up a little and your skin flushes. He knows the signs and his lips quirks again, but he says nothing.

He inspects the second brace in the same way he did the first, pulling it tight and asking if you are comfortable. With another confirmation, he takes hold of the long leather strap and steps away from the bed to rein you in. As the leather tightens against your skin, you can only follow until you are standing in front of the fire again. He circles you in his arms, rein still inn his hand and kisses you deeply. You are more than ready for his touch and lean into him, your hands splayed against his chest. Hunger drives you and you press your mouth against his and force your tongue past his lips taking pleasure in the way his breathing hitches. You distinctly feel something pressing against your thigh. You’re not the only one who’s mind has been wandering tonight it seems. You skim your hands over his chest and along his sides, aiming to feel that delicious length hardening under your touch, when your hands are suddenly tugged away.

“Ah-a,” he says and steps back, regarding you with hooded eyes and a slight grin lifting the corner of his mouth. Then his gaze flicks up and he flings the rein towards the ceiling. It latches onto a hook there and he wastes no time, leaning his weight into pulling the rein tight across it. You squeak, stumbling forward as the rein hauls you up. Once you are stretched straight before him, Shay secures a buckle above your reach and steps back to admire his work. You are tethered to the ceiling and panting in shock. Your mind racing and confused, a bit angry at him for not warning you, but then your imagination grasps the possibilities of the position it puts you in and _that_ thought tugs at something deep in your core. You swallow and meet his eyes.

“That should do it,” he purrs. You just blink. To enraptured by the hunger and intent in his gaze. He laughs, a low soft rumble in his chest as he draws near and unties the belt of your frock. It falls open and you are all but naked in front of him. He growls in approval and ghost the fabric aside to skim his hands up and down your flesh, the swell of your breast and the flat planes of your stomach. You shiver under his touch, not from cold, but from unrestrained lust pulsing through your veins.

“Is this ter yer likin’?” he inquires. You can’t quite seem to find your voice, but nod vigorously. His grin stretches.

“Guessed you would,” he says. “After all, you do have a weakness for dominance.”

Your mind clears at the statement and you frown in indignation. “I do not!” you protest vehemently. He regards your reaction with amused interest. Then his demeanor shifts, intent and deadly serious he focuses his gaze on you as he stalks slowly forward with the measured movements of a predator, potent power rolling off him in waves. In utter denial, you register an exited shiver running down your spine. You try to get a grip on yourself, but then a callused hand grasps your chin; palm splayed possessively over your throat as he tips your face up. You can’t help your racing pulse or your rapid breathing as he leans close, eyes locked on your face and reading you like an open book before he kisses you. It’s harsh and unyielding and when his tongue demands entry you comply whit a moan; mind fogged and weak at the knees. _God he is good at this._

He still holds your chin when he breaks the kiss, and your unfocused eyes finds his.

“That’s what dominance does to you,” he says. You don’t know what to say. You mean to protest, but his grip tightens a fraction and you know your voice will not hold. He smiles.

“Care ter try yer gift then?” he asks and a flush promptly spreads across your skin as you nod weakly.

He kisses you hungrily, fogging your brain over again as his hands trail down your side, grabbing your butt and lifting your leg as he presses against you. You marvel in the way he has you blood racing and do not register what he is doing until something tightens behind your knee, raising your leg a little higher. It seem you have just discovered the purpose of the last buckle and the reason for the contraption’s sturdiness. Balancing on one foot, you are all but hanging from the ceiling, your womanhood available and exposed. If you weren’t flushed before, your skin is surely burning now. The thought of what he is doing and what he has planned is flooding your mind and your core suddenly throbs. You moan, and Shay chuckles as he steps away, marveling in the sight of you.

“Already, Pet?” he says. “We’ve barely even started.”

From a small side table, he produces the box and a small vile with what seems to be oil and pours a small amount in his hand. Then he picks up the smallest of the shining black phalluses before turning back to you, ghosting the silk frock aside. His arms encircle you as he gently caress the swell of your rump with a warm hand.

“I bought these for a purpose,” he breaths against your skin and you feel his fingers inching down. “If you are a good girl and let me, I promise ye this ‘ill be worth it.” His fingers are skimming further down, in between your cheeks and covering your cleft in oil. Your eyes widen.

_Is he suggesting… surely not._

But then you feel it, the polished hardness of your toy sliding between your cheeks and gently circling the rim of your ass, pressing lightly. Your body tightens at the thought, but the flash of warmth and tingles it sends through you is something new. You are torn between objection of the illicitness of the act and the pleasure the toy is starting to indicate.

Shay is watching and waiting, grinning leisurely to your side. He is confident that modesty will lose; you are already aroused and your ability to make moral decisions deteriorating.

The toy never stops its slow dance back and forth over slick skin, and when you can’t decide, he nudges it against the rim again.

_Oh, God!_

You breathe out an embarrassed and apprehensive “Yes”. Shay chuckles lowly and the circling dance narrows until the tip stands still while the end gyrates. He is comfortingly close, the heat radiating from him coats your front and side gently. He lifts a hand to caress your breast before you feel his breath against your neck. You let your head fall back, anticipating the gentle scrape of his scruff. You can hear the smile he wears when he speaks.

“When were you ever so pliant, lass?” He chuckles lowly. “Want me to push it in?” The words spoken close against your skin draws goosebumps all the way down your side. The toy is pushing against slick skin, the tight muscle quivering, giving way. Your breath is short bursts of exhilaration, the feeling new, tantalizing, the first tentative movement giving you a minute taste of what’s to come.

You can’t form coherent speech, just moan as the toy takes up the careful dance inside you. Shay mumbles encouragement against your skin

“That’s it pet,” he coos, “such a good girl. How does it feel?

“It’s… _oh god …_ ” fire is licking along your nerves edging towards your core. The heavy heat settling there is slowly building.

“Shay… please…”

“Please what?” he says, knowing grin plastered across his face.

“I-I need… aah,”

“You need more?” he asks amused. Lucky for you he takes your whimpers and moans as a confirmation, and the toy disappears. You brace and anticipate his warm hardness against your opening, but Shay soon returns with the second toy. He cards it slowly through your slick folds.

“I was just wondering,” he says idly, “how did the Gran’ Master’s mouth feel against your skin?”

His question plunges you into the memory and for a split second, you can feel the Grand Masters tongue laving at your most intimate parts. It’s so potent your body jerks and a garbled moan spills form your lips.

“That good, hm?” he hums. “What did he do to you? Did he lick your pretty little cunt?”

You know it arouses him to hear you relay your dirty thoughts, and while the next toy is promising more enticing experiences and making it hard to focus on anything but the chase for more, you take some pride in being able to repay him some of the tantalizing torment on your body. Words spill from your mouth without restraint.

“Yes, oh yes,” you say, “he used his tongue, licking and sucking and swirling his tongue against my clit while you watched.”

“Yea, ye like tha’ don’t ye?” he says and cups a breast in his free hand. The second toy, sliding back and forth through your folds, inches back and stops against your rim. Shay watches your face now as he pushes, then as your body resists, his fingers finds their way to the slick folds sliding back and forth between your opening and the little tight nub of joy.

Your body opens and the toy sinks in. The larger toy makes the feeling more insistent, more direct. He moves it slowly, deliberately, giving you just enough to keep it pleasurable while the toy stretches you. The near touch soon resembles torture, your mind vibrantly aware he is stopping just short of what you need.

If only he could touch you some more, you think, not really sure where you want him the most, however; strung up, all you can do is catch his lips in a desperate kiss. He keeps you steady, kissing you back and all the while probing, wiggling and stretching you with the toy. You are trembling now, something coiling low in your stomach, and you are desperately want more.

“How did that make you feel?” Shay asks. “Me watching and him licking yer pretty little cunt?”

“Oh, God!” you breathe as your core clench at the mere thought. It’s hard to think: the tightness in your center is throbbing, pulsing now.

“Ye were sopping wet the moment ye woke; desperate for a thorough romp,” he chuckles as your head falls to his shoulder. “Much like now, ey?” he says, before gently removing the toy from your rear.

He ghosts gentle fingers over your flesh as he circles you; a wide and lazy smile on his face as his eyes drinks you in. The red silk clings to your figure but falls away where your leg is strung up, revealing the wetness running down your thigh. He seems to appreciate what he sees, if judged by his dilated pupils and the prominent bulge in his pants. He walks full circle, then grips your sides to gently turn you so the fireplace is to your side and you are facing a screen a few feet beside it. Wrists strung up by the leather braces, and with only one foot touching the floor, there is little you can do but follow. Your nipples tighten at the loss of the fireplaces glow. Shay’s grip tightens then, drawing you snug against his chest. His breath ghosts over your neck the way he knows you love when he leans close.

“And if he could see you now, how would that make you feel?”

The thought is enough to clench your eyes, among other things and you whimper. A laugh rumbles through his chest.

“You would like that, ha? For him to see you like this? All wet and ready from your little fantasy.” His hands are ghosting up and down your sides. You need something more than just words and endless teasing and you tell him so, demand it even.

He chuckles lowly. Then his focus shifts towards the screen, his hands holding you firmly in place before him.

“You heard the lady,” he says, before his breath is on your ear again. “Your last gift, my dear” he says.

Your breath is caught in your throat and your heart suddenly races a hundred miles an hour as you hear rustling of movement behind the screen. Then a figure emerges, broad shoulders caressed by shirt and vest, both buttoned down and open to reveal a toned chest underneath. You know who it is even before he steps fully into the light.

“My God, Shay. She’s beautiful,” he says then turns to you. “My Lady, I’m flattered.”

Suddenly, you’re sober and painfully aware of how exposed you feel. How exposed you are; hell your boyfriend has put you on display for heaven’s sake. The Grand Master seems to register the hesitance and looks to Shay.

“First time?” he inquires

“To my knowledge, yes,” Shay answers and you can hear the feral grin stretching his face.

It sparks a gleam in your guest’s eyes.

“Shay,” he chides, before turning his focus back on you. His gaze now lingers steadily on your face as he draws near, confident and at ease; the calm authority he exudes is reassuring, calms your rising panic, but your blood still rushes through your veins. It burns your face and pools hotly in your center.

He lifts a hand to cup your cheek.

“Easy,” he coos. “You are alright; I will do nothing to you unless you want me to. Understand?”

You nod weakly, eyes averted and unable to meet his gaze. It will not do it seems, as his fingers coax your chin up. You swallow down anxiety and face him.

His eyes are warm, concerned. There is heat there, but he masks it well. A man in control of everything he does, you reflect.

“Good,” he says. “Now, I will leave if you want me to, or… I can make that dream come true, my dear, but only if you let me.”

A mindless, exhilarating rush through your body ends up insistently throbbing in your core, tugging at your will to give in. _God that is a tempting offer._ Still, you hesitate. He is your boss, and you barely met him. How will this reflect on you tomorrow? Will he ever regard you the way he did tonight? Or is your reputation already lost? His thumb ghosts over your cheek in soothing strokes as he waits, reading your inner debate but does not attempt to move you.

“She fears you will think less of her, after, Sir,” Shay comments before assaulting the skin on your neck. _God he makes it hard to think._

“Mm,” The Grand Master hum, “Is that so?” his eyes find yours again, grey eyes warm and seeing right through you. “Well, my dear, those fears are unfounded. I do not bed women I do not respect.”

In his eyes is the assurance you need. You already put your life in his hands when you joined the Order. You have seen the results of his leadership and you respect his judgment. He is a man who holds his word and Shay’s trust in him is unlimited. His eyes tells you to trust him, and you desperately want to.

And who are you kidding, you have wanted this, ever since Shay suggested it.

He reads you like an open book now, the acceptance in your gaze, the rigidness leaving your body and still he waits. You give a tentative nod, and he smiles.

“I will need to hear you say it,” he says stroking a thumb across your mouth and you become aware of your own breath, drawn labored between swollen lips. Before you can regret it, without delving any further into propriety or consequence you answer him. “Please, stay. I want it.” Your pulse pounds in your ears as his hand shifts to cradle your neck, holding you still as he leans in to taste your lips.

He’s different than Shay, lips fuller and less chapped, yet more insistent as his tongue demands entrance. If you weren’t already there it would have left you week at the knees. You hear yourself moan. Behind you Shay chuckles.

“I told you she wanted this,” he says.

“Can’t deny I want her too, after that little story,” the grand Master says braking the kiss and admiringly ghosting fingers down your skin. “However Shay, are you sure you do?” he continues, admiring the way Shay is cupping your breasts from behind and kneading your flesh as if offering it to him.

“Ay, I do,” Shay says and the man in front of you, your master and your leader, bends down to suck both your nipple and the tips of Shay’s fingers into his mouth. You barely have brain function to register Shay groaning as his tongue swirls and your head falls back on Shay’s shoulder.

Shay’s voice is strained when he continues.

“It’s been a while since we shared a woman,” you hear him say. “Wasn’t for lack of want though.”

The warmth of Shay leaves your back and you raise your head wondering where he’s going. You’re given no time to ponder it as Shay speaks up.

“Make good of your promise to her, Sir. She’ll need it soon.”

You crane your neck to see what Shay means, but he is behind you, and the man in front of you keeps you from turning as he hums a reply, and then continues to assault your flesh, slowly inching downwards, placing gentle bites and kisses on your tender skin.

You can’t decide between watching his decent or closing your eyes and just feel, ambling between both as he inches further down. His eyes flicks up to check that you’re alright, and you can feel him grinning against your skin when he finds your eyes.

Your breath is coming out in pants and your mouth is dry. You feel distinctly hot in your own skin, you cannot breathe as every suck and nibble further down is making your core throb and tingle.

 _‘Oh God this is really happening_ ’ your mid screams. He is kneeling before you now, kissing the dip of your hipbones, your lower stomach and your inner thigh. Your mind flees at the thought of the figure you make, stretched out and on display before him, pink lips parted and waiting.

You hear Shay chuckle again as he cups your backside.

“Happy, are we, Pet?” he says, following your line of sight

At that moment the Grand Master’s breath ghosts your most intimate parts and then his tongue trails up your slick folds. His tongue is hot and slick and delicious and you can’t contain the keen that rises in your throat. Ragged and pleading your voice rings through the room.

“Guess we’ll take that as a yes” Shay says and the Grand Master chuckles and agrees.

His tongue is doing a marvelous job, slow languid licks from your entrance to the clit sending another set of sparks along your nerves. You writhe within your bonds, seeking it further, and praise the work he does with your whimpers and pleas. The strokes continue steadily, growing ever more insistent with your moans, pressing harder against your skin and swirling your clit to push your body and mind toward an apex you can’t see. Reaching it is the only thing on your mind, the only thing that matters until a well-oiled and polished hardness slips between the cheeks of your butt.

Your eyes snap open as your breath caches in your throat.

You had forgotten the third toy, but now it’s pressing firmly against the rim of your ass, and Shay is holding you still.

“Relax” he murmurs against your skin, increasing the pressure. The toy is big, stretching you awkwardly and pain mixes with the intense pleasure delved by the Grand Master. Its conflicting and awkward, light and dark, pleasure and pain fighting for dominance, and then the pain increases, but just when you think Shay needs to stop; that it’s too much and that it will never fit, Haytham latches onto your clit and sucks, as Shay bites down on your neck and pinches your nipple. The toy sinks in and _nudges_ every teased spot in one single plunge. Your body clenches and you come so hard and fast it has you screaming. Shay gently rocks the toy in time with your keens and Haytham places gentle licks up your slit until you slowly come down from the high. It’s over in a rush and Shay removes the toy. They leave your body be to regain yourself. You hear the rustling of clothes and know they are undressing, but for now you are sweaty and trembling and trying to digest what just happened.

The intense climax was there and gone again so fast. The mere thought of it sends a rush of arousal through you, and despite the climax you just had, you are feeling distinctly empty and wanting. The fire still burns in your core unsated, and when you catch sight of Shay tangling his fist in Haytham’s hair to kiss him and drink your release from his lips, you know you need more.

Haytham reaches for Shay’s neck, keeping him in place, and suddenly your realize, what they have is more than the close friendship of brothers in arms. It does not faze you; rather thrill you as you watch them together, defined muscle rippling in chest and arms in a slow bout of affection. Your eyes trail further down, following the enticing trails of hair disappearing down below their breeches. Your gaze lingers a second to long, the enticing bulges feeding your aroused imagination and Shay notices.

“Someone’s still hungry,” he chuckles nudging his friend before stalking over. He laces you in a one-armed embrace, kissing you and sneaking his tongue into your mouth to feed you the remnants of your own taste while untying his breeches with the other. He tastes salty, but you don’t care. You’re hungry. You want them to fuck you and when he breaks away, you tell him so. His eyes sparkles in hunger and you know he’s just as aroused as you are.

“And here I thought I was the one in command.” The Grand Master eyes you from under his lashes. Still with his breeches falling down his thigs and erection proudly jutting out he is able to portray a menacing form.

You know he’s playing you, that the assertion of authority in his tone and pose is a ruse to make your blood rush but you cannot help yourself as your breathing hitches and your cheeks burn. He eyes you over, and then pinches your jaw between his fingers before leaning close. You can feel the heat radiating off him and the hardness against your stomach and your pulse is racing.

Behind you, Shay’s warmth touches your skin. His hand rests idly on the rein holding your leg as his breath ghosts your ear.

“Be’er ask nicely, Lass.”

They are teaming up on you now, and you can’t have that. The burn of protest inside spills over into speech.

“I’ll ask nicely, once you’ve made good of your promise, Shay.”

They both chuckle at the fire raging within you.

“Fair enough,” Shay says, then suddenly tugs at the rein and tightens it another couple of notches. You are yanked up and teetering on the very tips of your toes.

“Perfect,” Shay purrs and starts his assault on your skin with mouth and hands. The Grand Master fists himself slowly and catch your eyes. “Are you sure you want this?” he asks, still seeking your consent.

You are beyond ready. You answer him yes, almost before he has finished his question, and Shay chuckles. The Grand Master claims your mouth and brushes his erection through the slick of your folds, coating himself in the fluids there.

He sets the engorged member against your opening and you are quivering as he sinks in ever so slowly to claim your body. It’s torturously sweet as your nerve endings _almost_ gets the attention you crave. You whimper as he retracts, just as slowly, just as agonizingly _nearly there_ and you try to speed things up, pushing against him on the tip of your toes. Shay chuckles lowly again and his breath ghosts against your ear. He is fondling your breasts again, kneading the way that will eventually unravel you, but it’s still not enough. What you need is rough and deep and this just won’t do.

“Not enough for you is it?” Shay rumbles, raising goosebumps along your neck. All the while, the Grand Master continues the slow torture.

You whimper again and try to push of, but you have no leverage, no purchase to use. Your flesh is oversensitive, the slow movement another teasing promise of fire licking along your nerves if he would only _fuck_ you.

“No,” you whimper, “it’s… -aaah! … it’s not _enough_.”

“We’ll see if I can’t ail yer needs, Pet.”

Some silent message is passed over your shoulder, and the Grand Master grabs your unbound leg and promptly lifts it off the floor. You are fully suspended and waiting for him to claim you, but instead he sinks fully in and stops.

You wail in protest and try to use this new leverage to set your own pace, but your movement is stopped short by Shay. Strong hands grip your hips and holds you still.

And then you feel it; his hard erection against your backside. You crane your neck and your breath hitches, as you understand his intention, partly wary for the intrusion, partly over-exited as you finally see what it is he’s planned. He pushes against your rear, not enough to enter, but enough to feel how slick the oil coating your skin has made you and watches the reaction flitting through your eyes.

“Are you hesitant, Pet?” he says, and his lip quirk. “Just think how it will feel when you come.”

Your imagination jolts with the idea of having all the tender spots stimulated simultaneously and your inner muscles _clenches_. The Grand Master groans as your cunt tightens around him.

“Oh God,” you breathe and catch Shay’s lips hungrily to tell him how bad you want it and that is all the confirmation he needs. He fumbles a bit, then breaks the kiss and hands you over to his accomplice as he lays intent behind the push against your rear.

You brace for pain as the Grand Master distracts you with tantalizingly delicious kisses, but it seems the preparations have done enough for you. Your flesh is stretched, but slick with oil, there’s little resistance as Shay sinks in. The fullness of both of them inside is very nearly too much, your flesh so tender and your body ripe with desire and you all but hyperventilate. The Grand Master lifts a hand and coaxes you to look at him, wary that you are in pain. He seems to understand that you’re not, though as his hand settles against your neck and starts speaking soothing words to calm you.

That’s not what you want, though, not what you need and you breathe a strangled ‘ _move’._

When they don’t understand your request you give it to them plainly.

“Ah, for God’s sake; _fuck me!_ ”

They both chuckle and start moving slowly. Pleasure courses through your veins as your body opens to accept them. Each stroke, each brush of them inside you send sparks flying up your spine, melting your bones and flooding your senses. You are wedged between them, nothing you can do but receive them as they both pick up pace.

“God she’s whet!” the Grand master growls.

“Ay, Shay says looking at you with a feral grin. “Wanting little cunt and tight ass full of cock and still begging for more. Ain’t you, lass?”

His dirty words flood your mind, embarrassed heat heightening your pleasure. You are barely aware the desperate and pleading sounds you make, nor do you care, when you are inches away from a magnificent high.

Your body trembles as you hover on that ledge for a second, before a burst of white hot gratification crashes down on you in waves when you come. You throw your head back keening out your pleasure and they still their pace, intent to draw it out it seems, languid strokes timed with your clenching cunt. It’s exquisite, raw and perfect as your cunt is coaxed to clench with bursts of stars in the back of your mind time and time again until finally you still with a shudder wracking your body.

They pick up pace again then, seeking their own pleasure this time. You are exhausted and oversensitive and tingling all over, hovering in post-orgasmic bliss. Shay groans incoherencies lowly at your back, tight grip on your hips as he plunges you. The Grand Master watches the way Shay takes you, hunger burning in his eyes and fucking you in ever more erratic bursts. Tingles of what you just had, still spark with their movements making you quiver and gasp as they ravish your body. Shay is the one to lose it first, burying his face against your neck, his cock twitching deep inside you as he shoots off his load. The Grand Master follows shortly after, yanking out and fisting himself until he spills against your skin with a growl.

Three sets of panting breaths and a heavy sent of sex fills the silence of the room. Shay pulls out, and you whimper at the loss of his body heat as he moves away. And then you start to register the aches in your joints. Shay seems to know, as he hastily unfastens the buckle around your leg and the one keeping you suspended. Your legs crumble underneath you as you are lowered, but the Grand Master catches you and lays you down on the luscious hide covering the floor. Shay, breeches haphazardly done up kneels down to kiss you and stroke a lock of hair from your face, before handing you a washcloth to rinse yourself off with. Your mind is still swimming, and all you really want to do is sleep. You clean up the worst before losing yourself in the glow of the fireplace, watching the flames dance.

The Grand Master returns; dressed prim and proper he kneels at your side. _When did he have time to dress?_ You must have dosed off a moment. He unbuckles the braces on your wrists and flicks a gaze at Shay. “What a glorious contraption” you hear him say, his voice low and amused.

“Ay,” Shay grins back. “My own invention, that is.”

You groan as they coax you to sit and Shay holds a cup against your lips. “You need to drink, lass,” he says. The tepid tea is unsweetened and you do not care for it, but don’t find it in you to reject. Sated, you swallow it down, wishing they would just leave you be. When it’s finally empty you meet Shay’s gaze.

“Did we meet your requirements, pet?” he asks lowly.

You stare blearily at him as he chuckles. Somewhere it registers that you should answer his quip with one of your own, but the ember finds no catch and your mind is pleasantly numb. In the end, he gets no answer but your blissfully vacant smile. The Grand Master watches, amusement crinkling his eyes.

“That might have been a little too much for a first time, Shay,” he says. “I’m sorry, my dear if we wore you out.”

Shay chuckles again, lobs his arms around your back and under your knees and hefts you into his arms. The warm and familiar sent of him envelops you in security. You don’t register as he puts you down on the bed, kisses your brow and tucks you in, already falling asleep.

 

When you wake the next morning, curled against Shay’s sleeping form, there’s just the dull ache in your joints left to remind you of the perfect end to your birthday.

 

 

 


End file.
